Chapter Seventeen
They were married in a brief ceremony with little fanfare at St. Michaels’ on Crooked Lane. Small and plain by most standards, the church was never frequented by those they knew and, therefore, suited their needs perfectly. The special license had been procured by Lord Highcliff, who, along with his housekeeper, served as their witnesses. It was hardly the wedding she’d dreamed of as a girl. There was no beautiful gown to transform her, though the concoction of pink silk that had materialized was certainly grand enough. It also lacked a certain amount of coverage at the bust which had prompted the vicar to stare stubbornly at the ceiling.
Still, there were no orange blossoms and there would be no elaborate wedding breakfast to return home to. In spite of that, Jane found herself to be hopeful.
As she recited her vows, she was shockingly free of nerves. It was as if every hesitation, every doubt had fled from her. She stood before the cleric with absolute certainty.
The idea of marrying for love rather than duty or to uphold ages old marriage contracts had always appealed to her. While she strongly suspected that her own feelings for Marcus had crossed the threshold in that direction, she had very little inkling of his feelings for her. He desired her, yes, but that was all she could be certain of. Still, she was marrying Marcus completely against her father’s wishes. She supposed there was some truth and comfort in the idea that she’d followed her own heart and not been swayed by anyone else.
She’d found herself questioning through the night whether what she felt for Marcus was love. It was an impossible feeling to define, but her own emotions defied definition as well. She was drawn to him, and she’d grown to trust him. While he often failed to go about it in the proper way, she believed with her whole heart that he ultimately always tried to do the right thing. And what men didn’t blunder things?
He’d spoken once of love being a combination of feelings. Desire, trust, respect, genuinely liking the other person and wanting to be in their company—those were certainly part of it, she was sure. But there was something else, some ephemeral component that she could not fully identify that created a small frisson of apprehension in her.
In spite of that, she had managed to develop a strong sense of the kind of man he truly was. A future with him, even if he failed to love her in return, if, in fact, love was what she felt for him, was still preferable to the rather lonely future she had thought to console herself with. More pointedly, together, they possessed a far greater chance of standing firm in the face of her family and his.
They had both been used, bullied, and valued for only what they could provide for others. What a glorious life it would be, she thought, if that were never true again. They had the promise together of something many couples did not—contentment. Could that possibly be enough?
When it was done, they signed the register and the cleric bid them good day. If he thought it unusual that someone of Marcus’ standing would be married in such a havy-cavy fashion, he managed to school his response very well to conceal it.
“Congratulations, my lord… and to you as well, your ladyship,” the rector offered in the same monotonous tone with which he’d performed their marriage ceremony. Again, his gaze was glued directly to the top of Jane’s head and did not dare lower by even an inch. He was certainly a dour fellow.
“Thank you, Reverend, for making yourself and your church available to us this morning. I’m afraid we cannot linger,” Marcus explained.
Highcliff had made a rather sizable donation to the church. Of that, Jane was certain. As Marcus took her arm and led her outside to the waiting carriage, Highcliff offered his congratulations. “May your happiness match, if not exceed the misery it has caused for others.”
Jane shook her head. “Could you not have simply wished us well without addressing the furor we will no doubt create?”
“To be forewarned is to be forearmed, my dear,” Highcliff answered as he reached inside the carriage to retrieve a wooden box. “Speaking of forearmed, I might have persuaded your publisher to put out a special edition of his little gossip rag today. No doubt by nightfall, all of London will be clamoring for Charles’ head on a platter. That is when he will be the most dangerous. To that end, this is for you.”
Jane opened the box and found a small muff pistol inside. It would easily fit into her reticule or the pocket of an apron. “I’ve no notion of how to use a pistol, Lord Highcliff.”
“You do not need to know, my dear. It’s primed and ready. Keep it with you always. If necessary, point it at the person you wish to shoot, pull back this hammer,” he offered, pointing to the surprisingly pretty and ornate scroll work on top of the handle, “and then simply squeeze the trigger. It will do the work for you… but they have to be close to you. Just beyond arm’s length should do it. At that distance, it isn’t even necessary to aim.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For all that you’ve done and all the many ways that you have helped us.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. As he did, he whispered in her ear, “Althorn is my only friend. Make him happy.”
With that, Highcliff drew back and bustled his housekeeper into a waiting hack, leaving his much finer carriage for them to return to the fold of their less than welcoming families. Watching him Jane was overcome with sympathy for him. He was handsome, wealthy beyond imagining, titled… and yet, she felt he must be the loneliest person she’d ever known, even given her own less than warm childhood.
“He’s very sad, isn’t he?”
Marcus met her gaze with a level one of his own. “We have too much to deal with right now for you to go matchmaking for Highcliff. He’ll find his own happiness in his own way and in his own time.”
“But—”
“One crisis at a time, my dear. One crisis at a time,” Marcus insisted as he offered her a hand up.
Once in the carriage, Jane carefully closed the box holding her weapon. It was certainly a first for her. “Do you really feel that Charles poses this much of a threat to us? That we might have to defend ourselves with violence?”
“I do,” Marcus answered. “For all of our lives, Charles has been not simply envious, but covetous. Everything that was mine, he felt entitled to. And once he took it, he’d break it—destroy it in ways that it could not even possibly be repaired. It’s as much spite with him as anything else. I worry that will now extend to you.”
She made a face. “You needn’t worry on that point. Charles has as much as confessed that he finds me revolting. Even when he proposed, he essentially stated that he was fond enough of me to overlook my unattractiveness.”
“While his statement is utterly preposterous, that doesn’t change anything. When we were younger, still grown men, but before we both joined the army, I had a beautiful horse and Charles wanted him. Naturally, I declined. The next day, Charles took that stallion from the stable, rode him into the ground with rain pounding them both. At last, when the horse was too exhausted to even walk, chest billowing and lathered with sweat, Charles made him take an impossible jump over a gate that should only have ever been braved on a fresh horse on a dry day… or so witnesses said.”
A sick feeling settled over her. “What happened to the stallion?”
“He broke both his legs stumbling as he landed on the other side of that fence. I had to shoot him, because Charles said he didn’t have the heart. He left him to suffer in the field for hours before I could get back to him to put him out of his misery,” Marcus answered.
“You think he did it on purpose?”
“I know he did,” Marcus said stiffly. “The stable master forbade him from that taking horse, stating that, on my orders, no one else was to ride him. Charles ignored that edict, saddled the beast himself, and took him out against my express wishes.” Marcus paused, clearly remembering the exchange with no small amount of anger. “I’d told him no in person, the stable master had told him no, as well, but there you have it. He can be a spiteful creature, Jane. He would hurt you to hurt me. I couldn’t bear that.”
Jane shivered, her skin cold with fear and a sickening sense of foreboding. “There are many obstacles in his path. You and me, your father and mine! While I’ve little affection for either of them, if Charles intends to ultimately gain control of my fortune, then it’s likely he’s a danger to them, as well.”
“He is… but they are not my priority. You are. I will keep you safe, no matter what it takes. That is why I want to take you straightaway to Thornhaven. You will be safe there while I deal with this.”
“No,” she stated adamantly. “If we separate so soon after being married, anyone could challenge the validity of our wedding. I will not give them the ammunition they require to see it annulled.”
“Jane, I don’t know what I would do if you were hurt, or worse, killed. I cannot have that on my conscience!”
“Is that the only reason? Because you’d feel guilty? Or is there something else, Marcus?”
“And if I tell you it is much more, would you go to Thornhaven then?”
Jane shook her head sadly. “If and when you make a declaration of your affections, Marcus, I’d prefer it not to be part of a bargain.”
“I’m sorry for that, Jane. It was wrong of me to suggest it. You will, when all this done, have the declaration you desire… and I hope that I will receive one in return. To that end, do please listen to me and do as I tell you once we reach Father’s home. It’s imperative to keep you safe.”
Those words, dire as they were, gave her hope. “Nothing will happen to me… to either of us. We will look after one another. That’s what we’re intended to do, isn’t it? For richer and for poorer and for better and for worse? Did we not just utter those words?”
Marcus didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for her, taking her hand and pulling her to him. She settled across his lap, pressing her head to his shoulder as he held her close. It was a gesture of comfort and not passion, but it was just as welcome.
*
Charles was enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Alone in the breakfast room, his every need attended to by the ridiculous number of footmen stationed about, he could almost envision himself as head of the household. One day, very soon, he vowed, all that he surveyed would be his.
The door opened and the butler entered, stiff and unfriendly as usual. When he was in charge, Riggs would be the first to go, Charles decided.
“A package has arrived for you, Mr. Balfour,” the butler intoned and placed the small parcel on the table for him.
Charles eyed the package for a moment, and then the butler who still loomed. “That will be all, Riggs.”
When he was alone again, Charles snapped the twine that bound the package. It was a paper, a printed copy of that worthless gossip rag, the London Ladies’ Gazette. But it was the headline which immediately caught his eye. ‘Missing Marquess’ Cousin and Heir Apparent Guilty of Treason.
He’d done it. Marcus had gone to the press, or at least one small portion of it, with his suspicions. Charles felt the clawing panic building inside him. If people began to look too closely, everything they had constructed would fall down about their ears.
Folding the paper to conceal the headline, he wrapped it once more in the waxed cloth it had been delivered in and set off to find Cassandra. It was time to cut their losses and run or risk the noose. He’d no more than stepped into the foyer than Riggs was answering the front door. He paused on the bottom step as Marcus entered, Jane Barrett at his side.
“Well, Cousin, you’ve certainly stirred the pot of scandal broth,” he said with false easiness. “And you, Miss Barrett. You’ve turned out to be an unexpected surprise. Who would have ever guessed such a mousy countenance hid the heart of an adventuress!”
“You’re addressing my wife, Charles. She is now Lady Althorn,” Marcus answered reproachfully. “You will not disparage her so!”
“For the time being, she is Lady Althorn,” Charles offered with a cold smile. “That is, until her father sees it annulled. I understand a certain amount of discord with the in-laws is to be expected, but you’ve far and away exceed that, Cousin.”
There was a commotion at the top of the stairs as the man in question, Mr. Barrett, appeared. He took one look at the couple and his face purpled with rage.
“I’ll see you dead for this, Althorn! We’ll have pistols at dawn!” the man shouted.
Charles used the confusion to make his escape. Heading up the stairs and past the still ranting Barrett, he made directly for Cassandra’s chamber. No doubt the servants would be glued to the rather loud and nasty scene unfolding in the foyer. With that, there was little chance of them being discovered.
“We have to go,” he said, entering her room, and putting the heavily-wrapped paper down on her breakfast tray. “It’s too late to salvage anything here.”
She perused the headlines after removing the wrapping. “This is nothing.”
“It is something, Cassandra! If I’m accused of treason, we’ll be outcasts. Between this, the suspicious demise of my entire family and our very unorthodox relationship, we will be absolute pariahs here.”
“We have to stay here, Charles, just long enough to get the money… then we can go anywhere. Spain, Portugal… even to the Americas!” she insisted. “But we cannot run out now… not yet. We can’t give up everything we’ve been working toward! I will not be poor! I didn’t marry that disgusting, wrinkled, old sot and let him rut on me every night for months just so I could leave here empty-handed!”
“We will find another way to make our fortunes,” he said. “This isn’t just about money! I could hang for this. And they might well hang you with me.”
“It would take months for them to build a case. And in that time, we could make off with everything we need,” Cassandra insisted. “How long would our love last in poverty? No, Charles. We ride it out here! At least for now… and we proceed with our plan. I assume the turmoil below stairs is the return of our errant bride and groom?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Let Marcus and Barrett reach an understanding. Then when things are calm, we’ll plan a celebration, family only, of course, in light of the duke’s failing health. And it is failing. I took your advice. He had another seizure during the night. His valet should find him shortly, drooling and unconscious.”
“You are devious,” he said, awed with equal parts admiration and fear. Cassandra, in spite of her outward appearance of being vapid and insipid, always had a plan for every eventuality. No doubt, there was one that outlined precisely how to be rid of him should the need arise. Her slow poisoning of the duke had been self-serving at first, a way to end his abuse of her nubile, young body. But Charles come to realize that there was a part of her that enjoyed looking at the broken down wreck of her husband and knowing that she was the cause.
“It’s all for us, my darling. I don’t even care about the title. I just want as much of her lovely money as we can get our hands on. I imagine that with my beauty and your charm, we could take the courts of Europe by storm. Could we not?”
Knowing, as always, that it was in his best interest to agree with her, Charles said, “We will, my darling.” But in that moment, for the first time, he was envisioning a future without Cassandra. It was too late to cut and run. It likely had been long before Marcus and his new bride arrived. But once the duke was dead, and if Cassandra was to be believed that was only minutes away, Marcus would ascend to the title. It was all coming to a head too quickly and the time they needed to make an escape had dwindled at an alarming rate. Still, they stood there, Cassandra deeply in denial and all but enslaved by her own greed.
Slowly, with dawning realization of just how impossibly flawed her logic was and how epically their plans had failed, Charles reached another conclusion. It was too late to leave, too late to cut his losses and run. But that didn’t mean he would have the perfect amount of time left to exact his revenge on those who had either denied or cost him everything. He might not have what he wanted, but neither would they.
*
In the study, having finally convinced her father that they should retire there rather than continue shouting at one another in the foyer, Jane held her hand to her head in an attempt to ward off the looming megrim. “Father, please! You are being unreasonable!”
“Unreasonable? You married a damned imposter!” He shouted so loudly the windows rattled. “He’s not even the Marquess of Althorn!”
Jane knew that there was only one course of action left open to her. It was time to confess all of her sins. “I wrote that article. I wrote it out of spite and desperation to prolong our engagement long enough to make my escape. I thought, erroneously, obviously, at that time that Marcus was the last man on earth I wanted to be married to!”
“You did no such thing! That article was written by that same fool who has been spreading malicious gossip through the ton for years!”
“Yes… and I have been. I can show you my account books where I’ve been paid well for every column and article written,” she said. “I did this. Furthermore, you cannot have our marriage annulled as it has already been consummated.”
“You were just wed not even an hour ago!”
“And I’ve spent the past two nights alone with my husband without the benefit of a chaperone,” she added, ignoring the heated blush that colored her cheeks. “An annulment is impossible. There are no grounds for it. And you can pretend all you want, but I know both you and Charles had a hand in the kidnapping that resulted in my being so compromised. Waiting to marry ceased to be an option by your own design.”
Her father blinked at her in stunned surprise. “Now, see here, Jane—”
“Now, see here, Father… I know how you work. I know how you think. Charles might have suggested it for his own selfish reasons, but you eagerly accepted. And unless you want me to tell the entire world via my column in the London Ladies’ Gazette that you engineered your own daughter’s abduction to force a marriage, you’ll stand down now.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” he shouted.
“I would. Furthermore, I already have. The article has been written and entrusted to a dear friend. The moment you appeal for an annulment, that will be sent to the publisher,” she lied. “For decades, you’ve been attempting to pawn me off on poor Marcus. Now that we’re married, you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep us apart. You’ve gotten what you initially wanted, so take it and be happy.”
“I don’t care about the scandal!”
“You do,” she said firmly. “You wanted to have a connection to the aristocracy because it would open doors for you in business. It would give you new opportunities for investment and it would increase your social cache. You have that now. Do not ruin it out of spite!”
The door opened and her stepmother entered. She had clearly been listening for some time. “William, you will cease at once,” she said. “They are married, albeit in a very shabby fashion. It is done and we will all move on now!”
“Yes, you will,” Marcus said. “I cannot deny you the use of my name and title as entree into society, and I would not, though it may afford you less entree than you once hoped. But I will not have either of you in my home… ever again. Your treatment of Jane, for the entirety of her life it seems, has been nothing short of cruel and barbaric. That ends today. You will both leave at first light in the morning. If you wish to visit with my father after we have retired to our country home you may, but we will never again share the same roof.”
William Barrett drew himself up to his full height. “Is this the kind of husband you want then, Daughter? One who would cut ties with your family and keep you from us?”
“Yes,” she answered evenly. “He is the husband I want. And everything he said was uttered with my full and eager blessing.”
Her father turned then and stormed out, leaving Mrs. Barrett behind. The woman looked Jane over, from head to toe, with disdain. “You were an always embarrassment to him. He doesn’t realize it now, but being cut off from you is a blessing. When he and I are blessed with children of our own, they will be all that you are not.”
Jane said nothing further as her stepmother turned on her heel and followed her husband out of the room. To Marcus, she said, “That was unpleasant, but I had expected it to be far worse.”
He crossed the room to her. “It’s for the best, Jane. I know you’re hurt by your father and your stepmother—”
“I’m not,” she said. “Not really. I think I stopped letting their words hurt me a very long time ago. I attempted to follow her edicts more to keep the peace than because I was seeking her approval. I always knew that no matter what I did or what I became, that would be withheld.”
“All that’s left is dealing with Charles and Cassandra,” he said.
As if in challenge to his statement, Riggs entered the library. “Forgive me, Lord Althorn, your father has had an episode. He’s gravely ill, my lord.”